


Tylo's McHanzo Week 2016

by tentacleface



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8881261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentacleface/pseuds/tentacleface
Summary: My contribution(s) to the McHanzo week organized by the lovely McHanzo tumblr. This is my first written fanwork, I hope you folks like it!





	1. Day 1 - First Time

The first month he barely left his room. Being there- being with all these new faces, new people- was so alien to Hanzo. He’d spent so long alone, after Genji… after what he did to Genji, that he was unaccustomed to so much activity. The others seemed to get on like old friends, for the most part. Even those who were new to the Watchpoint like he was. Lucio, Hana… even Vaswani spent more time with their new colleagues than Hanzo did, and she- well, she had less interest than he did in the others, or so it appeared.

Hanzo, though, did want to join them. He would see them in the common room, playing games, talking, laughing. One night, Hana had even convinced most of the team to join in on a karaoke night- he’d politely declined. Lena and Hana had both pouted, but were perceptive to his discomfort. Unlike a certain cowboy, who’d grabbed his wrist and drawled out in his smooth, charming voice.

“Aw, c’mon Hanzo, it’ll be good for ya! Y’need to get to know these people!”

But Hanzo had pulled away, and shook his head.

“Thankyou, but I must decline, perhaps next time.” Though he had no intention of actually joining them.

 

***

The second month, with Genji’s not-so-subtle prodding, he began to take his meals in the common area with the others. He didn’t speak much, but that didn’t stop the cowboy from stealing the seat nearest him as often as possible and talking up a storm. He couldn’t quite figure out how one man could have so much to say about nothing at all, but it came to be something he grew accustomed to. Much like the waves crashing at the cliffside every night, lulling him to a peaceful sleep, McCree’s voice while he ate, his own responses few, and brief.

One evening, instead of his usual quick departure after dinner, he found himself seated, on the couch, listening to McCree tell one of his stories. He was good at it- telling stories. Soon, Hana, Lúcio and Lena were all sitting nearby, hanging on to every word. He had a way of engaging his listeners, this cowboy did. He liked to gesticulate wildly in a way he didn’t when simply conversing. Once, his wide gesture had ended with a slap to Hanzo’s chest with the back of a broad hand- his flesh one, Hanzo had gratefully noted. He’d turned to him, as soon as it had happened, and in that low, yet friendly tone, had said,

“Sorry, darlin’.”

He’d returned to his story without even skipping a beat, but Hanzo could feel heat rising from his chest to his cheeks, and stood, excusing himself and briskly leaving the room. He repeated the words in his head over and over on his way back to his room. _Sorry darlin’. Sorry darlin’._

It was then that Hanzo realized he’d become infatuated by the man, and cursed himself for it. He was no child. He had no time nor want for crushes, let alone on a colleague. But yet, he had one. He tried to force it out of his mind and find something about McCree he hated, to focus on it. The ridiculous serape always around his shoulders… but it smelled of smoke and hickory and earth, and he could remember every time he took a subtle deep breath while sitting close to the man, the scent soothing him. The messy beard he wore, that Hanzo couldn’t help but imagine scraping against the sensitive skin of his neck. The way he smiled, crookedly but so damn handsome. Every time he tried to pick him apart, he only found that he liked every aspect of the man.

Instead, the archer settled for telling himself the crush would fade with time. After all, being alone for so long and then being suddenly thrust into such a sociable group. He was bound to develop some sort of awkward and unwanted feelings for someone.

***

The third month, the fourth, the fifth… the days passed on without much change. Hanzo had gotten into a bit of a routine. Evenings were spent in the training room or the common room, and always present was the cowboy. He wasn’t sure when it happened, that McCree began to tag along whenever he left to practice. He remembered one half-drunken challenge, something about marksmanship, but after that, he was just… there. They practiced in silence. The quiet between them was never unsettling to Hanzo. In fact, it was comforting, knowing the other man respected his concentration, his devotion to his art.

It was the sixth month. Hanzo and McCree were leaving the training room together as always, in silence. Usually it would be McCree to break that silence, whether with a joke or a story. This time, it was Hanzo, and he didn’t even realize it.

“Would you like to come back to my room for a drink?” The words had escaped his lips, even as the flush crept up his cheeks.  
“Hell, darlin’, I ain’t one to turn down a drink,” came McCree’s reply. “Lead the way.”

The implications of a drink, _'in my room'_ seemed to be far from the gunslinger’s mind, and Hanzo cursed himself silently. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

He lead the way through the base to his room. It was immaculate, carefully cleaned, sheets pressed. He turned, holding up a hand that came in contact with McCree’s broad chest before he could stop it. He could feel the rise and fall of his pectorals with his breath under his hand, and drew back, hesitantly.

“Your boots. Please remove them.” He’d already slipped out of his own shoes and placed them to the side.  
“Well alright, darlin’, if you insist,” he’d chuckled softly as he acquiesced to the other, watching him walk to the desk he’d set up in the small room. There was a jug there, and a few small, stoneware cups.  
“I wish you would stop that,” Hanzo sighed, pouring from the jug into the two cups, walking the short distance to McCree to pass him one. He looked down at the drink with a raised brow, skeptical before taking a sip, expression belying his surprise.  
“Well, it ain’t my usual fare, but this ain’t half bad. Pretty good, even. Stop what, Han?”  
“That,” Hanzo’s reply was almost hissed as he stepped back, “The… the pet names, I don’t need your… pity.” He drank his sake in one quick gulp, pouring himself another cup.  
“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about Hanzo, what pity?” McCree frowned, concern painted on his tanned face. The archer shook his head, sighing.  
“You know I’m… infatuated with you, and you do this out of-”  
“You’re what?!” McCree gasped, interrupting the other man in his surprise. “Infatuated? W...with me?”

Hanzo felt his heart dip to the pit of his stomach, his face turn red, ears burning as he stared at the ground. For weeks he had been sure, convinced of it. Jesse McCree was a charming man who pitied the pathetic Hanzo for his crush, and his constant use of familiar language with him was a way to tease him. He hadn’t thought for a moment that he’d been overthinking things. Apparently his stares hadn’t been as obvious as he’d thought. He turned away, clearing his throat, as if to speak, but found no words. McCree’s flesh-and-bone hand came to rest on his forearm, mechanical one clasping his shoulder.  
“Hanzo, yer sayin’... I had no idea, I thought…” Laughter filled the air then, and Hanzo clenched his fist till it shook. His laughter was as pleasing and charming and handsome as the man himself, and he hated that it was being directed at him, at his emotions. But when he spun, ready to lash out and shout at the other, McCree continued. “I thought it was one-sided.”

Hanzo frowned, staring at the cowboy’s face, then away, back again, to the floor, to his face, to the window. Though he knew what the other’s confession was, he still found himself floundering to name it. McCree seemed to realize this, because he took a couple broad steps towards the archer, and slipped his arm around his waist, touching his cheek with the other, and before Hanzo could say anything, lips were on his. Warm, caressing, gentle, McCree’s kiss was in all ways, the way the man himself was to Hanzo. Soothing and reassuring. He felt himself give in, lean into the kiss he’d been aching for, pictured so many times at night as he lay awake, unable to rid his thoughts of the man. He pressed against him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close. McCree was the one to break the kiss, and Hanzo mourned it’s loss briefly, before looking up to McCree’s eyes. He was looking down at him, warmth in his smile, adoration in his eyes.

“Jesse?”  
“I wish you’d told me sooner, darlin’. Been wantin’ to do that for a long while, now.”  
Hanzo only smiled, pressing his face against the other’s chest and breathing in that warm, comforting scent that was wholly Jesse McCree. The night was spent in his embrace, as they talked, just as they had come to in the past months. This time, however, Hanzo wasn’t aching for the man’s touch. He had it.


	2. Day 2 - Domestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is painfully self indulgent. Blaming Suz for this, since they made such LOVELY old men in love art. http://suzannart.tumblr.com/ Check out their work

Jesse McCree had heard tell of men going stir crazy in their retirement. Not enough to do, day in and day out. But he had enough action for two lifetimes. Instead, sitting on the porch, serape wrapped snugly around his shoulders, he looked out at the property. It wasn’t much, a nice old farmhouse with a couple acres surrounding it, undeveloped. There was an old barn near the edge of the land, half hidden by trees and overgrowth. It was almost sad, he thought, the way this place had gone so lonely for so long. It didn’t take them too long to fix it up, but he couldn’t help but think about the family that must have lived here before- before the war had come to their doorstep. Prized horses in the barn, goats and sheep grazing from the hills. How horrible it must have been to see bastion units storming over those hills…

He was shaken from his thoughts by a gentle hand on his shoulder, and a kiss on his cheek. “Jesse, dinner’s ready.” Hanzo smiled down at his husband. The grey at his temples had long since flowed into the rest of his hair, and down to his beard, flecking it all like lovely snow clinging to his lover’s hair. Hanzo complained about it, and once commented that he might dye it black, but Jesse had protested wildly, saying how beautiful Hanzo was, no matter the colour of his hair. He’d remembered adding, sheepishly ‘I mean, if you really wanna, I ain’t stoppin ya…’, suddenly so embarrassed that he had made such a fuss.

But the grey hair only reminded Jesse that they had lived long enough to have those grey hairs. He’d long expected to mourn the man, or for the man to mourn him, long after one of their deaths. He’d never thought he’d get to see Hanzo like this. Distinguished, and handsome as ever. He covered the man’s hand with his own briefly before bringing it to his lips and kissing his knuckles. He said nothing, just stood, smiling, and slid an arm around Hanzo’s waist as he followed him inside. 

Dinner was delicious, Hanzo was an excellent cook, and nothing was better on a crisp fall evening than his husbands’ katsudon. They ate in silence for the most part, but Hanzo couldn’t help but notice the dreamy smile across his cowboy’s face.

“What are you thinking of, Jesse?” He’d asked, expression belying the amusement in his voice. “That smile means trouble.” He added, with a soft chuckle.  
“Thinkin’ of you, darlin’.” Jesse reached across the table, taking Hanzo’s hand in his once again. “Thinkin’ how good it is, bein’ here with ya. This life we got ain’t somethin I ever thought I’d have… ain’t somethin I ever thought I deserved. But here we are.”  
“Here we are.” Hanzo echoed, smiling down into his lap. He too had spent so long agonizing that he had not deserved the gunslinger. That the other didn’t deserve to be burdened with a man so broken. But they were both broken men, Jesse had said. Both broken and put back together. 

As they lay in bed that evening, Hanzo cuddled close to Jesse’s side, head on his chest, he was brought back to that conversation.  
“Kintsugi,” Hanzo said, rousing McCree from his half asleep state.  
“Mmh? What’s that, darlin? Kin….what?”  
“Kintsugi. It’s an old tradition in Japan- broken pottery, mended with gold or other precious metals. The cracks remain, but become a beautiful accent to the work. The flaws become the beauty of it.”  
“Well, that sounds mighty nice, Hanzo, but what’re you-”  
“You once said we were broken men together. That we both had our flaws, we both had made mistakes, done terrible things,” his fingers carded gently through the thick hair on McCree’s rising and falling chest as he spoke, as if affectionately petting a dog. “But that we could fix it, that our futures would put us back together. Doing right by each other, by the world. You are the gold in my cracks, Jesse McCree.”  
“Hanzo…” his tone was soft, warm in the way Hanzo loved. “That’s… that’s beautiful, darlin’. That’s damn beautiful.” 

Hanzo felt the gentle tug at his scalp as fingers found their way through his hair, stroking and smoothing it down. He felt the warmth of the kiss at his forehead, and at his cheek, and again at his lips. The other man’s beard tickling at his lips, so wild and free, unlike his own carefully trimmed goatee. When the kiss broke, Hanzo laid his head down on his husband’s chest once more, eyes shutting as he let himself drift off to sleep, happy and warm in the embrace of the man he loved.


End file.
